Time to Think
by Zurizip
Summary: After the first week of torture - not a breath, thought, moment to herself, they left her alone in that dirty gritty cell.  Strapped to the chair with no hope and no motivation to live, the true torture began.  Ziva David finally had time to think.
1. Chapter 1

I wanted a fic with free reign to whatever I wanted to do. Ziva is my favorite alongside Abby. I just wanted some justification. If it's a hit, I'll write more than the two chapters I've got, but I'm afraid I need reviews so I know someone does in fact want more. In the meantime, enjoy what I've got, thanks!

She hadn't been lying. Ziva David had much time to think during her time in Somalia. After that first week, during which she hadn't had a moment of sleep, peace, thought, breath to herself, she was alone. Certainly, they came to her and shot her up with truth serum, but on the whole she estimated that she spent far more time alone than with anyone.

At first, she just wanted to die, and seriously contemplated starvation, or picking at the guards until they did something fatal. She'd gone in expecting to die and been forced to live – there wasn't much more miserable. But it gave her time to think about all the things she didn't want to think about... and there were an awful lot of those.

At first, she thought of Michael. And, also at first, she thought of him fondly, especially if she was coming off a dose of the serum. It was what she wanted to believe, the truth she'd accepted for several months. 'He sends me' Michael had said and Ziva had at first been suspicious, but Michael had gained her trust long ago in Israel and when he told her this wasn't some sneak to check up on her, she'd believed him. And when he'd asked if they could have a night like they had on the boat, she didn't ask again.

He was nothing short of a gentleman. He respected her, gave her space to do her thing and never demanded that she pay him attention. There were inconsistencies though, in his manner, and when her mind wandered in wondering confusion, she found them and finally understood them for what they were. She had watched him do the undercover thing with women before. He was cool, confident. "If you want into a woman's good graces, agree with her," he'd said when she asked him how he dealt with women when she was often at a loss. "And if you simply cannot fake your agreement, then agree and continue to poise your own point, as a simple, unobtrusive opinion of course, which you make clear is, of course, merely for the sake of interest."

And then, the memory of a conversation conducted amidst pillows, blankets, and discarded garments came unbidden to her mind.

"_Michael," she said in their native tongue, "Did my father truly send you for my benefit, or were you merely being," she paused, "cute?"_

_Michael laughed faintly, snaking an arm around her waist to pull her closer. "Now Ziva, what cause have you to doubt me?" She could feel his lips curving against her neck. "Do you really think I could not have charmed you without your father's word?"_

_She chuckled faintly. "I think it would be his permission rather than his guidance you needed, regarding me. My father is a wily man – I would not be surprised to hear of some ulterior motive."_

"_He is a wily man," Michael agreed, and moved to stroke hair from her face. "But consider. His daughter is thousands of miles away, and perhaps he is simply worried for her happiness." He smiled at her. "As do I."_

_Ziva smirked in spite of herself. "Of course." She said, not wanting to dig deeper. If there was more to his visit, then she did not want to know. It was called plausible denialbility._

It only took two days of solitude to realize that she'd been played. She just wasn't sure how badly, yet. Even her father wasn't sure. She'd loved Michael, she admitted to herself at some point in that time. She'd loved that she could speak her native tongue with him, that there were no secrets (well, about their past. The present hadn't seemed so important at the time), that he already had her father's approval. She'd loved his suave charm. She could admit it to herself (though, she thought ruefully, like with the runner, if Abby had asked her straight out she would not have admitted it aloud). She remembered his dead face and tried to think – did he love her, as he'd said?

She tried to recall his face, the timber of his voice, his eyes, whenever he'd said it and realized, slowly, slowly, that he'd never said "I love you." Love had entered the conversation, but never with purpose, never with direction. Adore, worship, cherish, love of her hair, her eyes... never 'you'. She looked up at the ceiling and swallowed as the world swam – and not just because she was going on forty eight hours without food. Of course. He'd given the impression of love but never the real deal. He was Mossad! Who did she think he was, Tony Dinozzo!

Her mind froze with the question. She blinked at the water in her vision, sand grit stinging her eyes. _Tell her what she needs to hear. _She'd said to him not so long ago.

_Damnit, Michael! Tell me what I need to hear! _


	2. Chapter 2

It took her two more days of hard thinking to come to terms with the first storming epiphanies. Her father would be relieved she was dead, she finally understood. He would also grieve, of course. Both of his children had been lost to the life he'd raised them for, and many others besides. But in some corner of his heart he would also be relieved. He could think of his daughter as a fine, Mossad assassin who had honored her family and her debts. She had never betrayed him (had she? She wasn't so sure, now.) In a way, dying here would be one of the best things she could do for him... probably since she'd accepted the liason position in NCIS.

For all his apologizing and gesturing of how regretful he was to have raised Ziva in such a savage fashion, Ziva knew, just as she had always known, that her training had been her choice. She had been working to this end – or something very like it – since she was very young. It had never even occurred to her that she could have a normal life. Maybe it was the culture, she realized. American culture was a misogyny of questions and requestions, doubts and assurances, truth and lies. It was expected of teenagers to rebel, and if they didn't it was odd.

She'd seen a similar world – trust, lies, doubts, assurances, but without any of the questions. She always knew the end fame with her father. _His gain. _The problem was, that in her case, she knew that that end game had never changed. It was still about his gain. But were they the same? He'd ordered Michael to court her, that much was certain. Had he done this to assure that his daughter was safe and cared for as well as gaining a position in the united states, or had it solely been for that privileged spot in her apartment, with an internet connection and as many contacts as Michael could find in the area?

He'd say it was for her. She wondered if she'd even catch the lie.

Gibbs was a better father than that man, she thought wearily, and he'd left her standing on the Tarmac. ~^~

A plane flew over head, waking Ziva from her troubled sleep. It wasn't troubled because she dreamed, certainly, actually she rarely dreamed, and under this pressure was no exception. It was troubled because she was too exhausted to truly rest. She tried to blink grit from her eyes, but it stubbornly stayed where it was, and she took a deep breath.

They'd been there, last she remembered clearly. She suspected that they had left her to fall asleep under the pentathol's influence but it wasn't clear. They'd asked about her father, about the United States, about NCIS, and to an extent, she'd answered.

Grudgingly, she'd had to admit that her position between sides had restricted her to information she might have otherwise known, for her talents. But she had no idea what the terrorist response to an attack on Washinton DC (again) would be, other than the glaringly obvious. She did know the protocols for the NCIS building – bomb threats, biological weapons, et cetera, and she'd murmured those out to them – knowing that in reality they were just standard procedures that anyone with an ounce of common sense could have worked out for themselves.

She didn't know any long term goals for Mossad, other than ones she expected had already been phased out. They were from before the September 11th attacks, before the 'War on Terrorisim'. And again, everything which was from the last four years or so – she had no way to know how accurate it was any more. She managed not to tell them that she was effectively a useless information source, even if they probably would have killed her. Let them take her outdated information as fact – maybe it would save lives besides hers. Then again, maybe they'd worked that out for themselves, and they were just keeping her for fun.

Odd though, none of them raped her. Just found new and exciting ways to torture her senseless every few days, and otherwise keep her alive.

Another plane. Why _had _Gibbs left her standing there, when she'd just told him that she didn't know who to trust any more, that she didn't understand what was happening here? She'd wanted him to leave, but she hadn't wanted him to... turn around without saying anything. She'd meant that she didn't know if she could work with Tony, in specific; not Gibbs himself. Gibbs hadn't sent Tony to her apartment without back up – he hadn't told Dinozzo to pick a fight and then shoot an injured, drunk man! And neither had McGee, Abby, or Ducky! It was Tony she had pork– she grit her teeth – _beef _with (Damn that idiom correcting man! He was still in her head, sighing with mock patience and that very slight twitch of the left eye until she amended her statement).

Tony couldn't have just believed her, trusted her! It was idiot stunts like what he'd done that destroyed relationships – personal and national – and generally made more trouble than anyone had had time for! Couldn't he have confronted her at work? Backed her into a corner, turned off the elevator, locked the bathroom door – anything but going to her house and knocking on the door when Michael had been drinking?

For a long time she sat, questioning – why, why, why? Why had Michael drank so heavily? He could have simply disabled Tony and called her. Tossed him on the street and claimed a break in? Why had he even answered the door, for that matter? Ziva swallowed tightly. She should have told him not to answer the door, she should have warned him that Tony was acting oddly, and the more she thought to herself the more 'should haves' cropped up. Should have talked to Gibbs, should have talked to Director Vance, should have told Tony about it.

And sometimes, counter should haves cropped up. _He _should have called. _He _should have shot in the leg. _He _should have smelled the alcohol. _He should have known something was wrong!_

And sometime, during that third week of silence, Ziva realized exactly why Gibbs had left her standing on the Tarmac to watch them fly back to the states: Tony _had _known something was wrong. It wasn't her trust that had been violated – it was his. Gibbs knew it. He had just been waiting for her to figure it out.

_Oh Gibbs... I'm so sorry..._

Unbidden, just like Tony's earlier correction of her idiom, Gibbs was in her mind, shaking his head as he walked by. _Don't apologize. It's..._

_a sign of weakness. _Her own voice finished the thought. She sighed, bowing her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews, guys. I'm still picking at this for fun and amusement.

Sometime after what she suspected was five weeks, they stopped feeding her, quenching her thirst three times a day but otherwise giving her nothing. She began to hallucinate. At first, she fought it, struggling to stay completely lucid. After two days of that, though... it just didn't seem worth it any more. Besides, Abby had come to pay a visit and she could never deny the team's collective little sister.

"_You know, Ziva, if you keep drinking water, you'll be alive a lot longer. See, the body can break down fat, and then muscle for your energy. It's really not a very fun way to die, I mean, not that death is very fun anyway, but jumping off a cliff or out a plane would be way cooler."_

Ziva just stared at the perfect vision of Abby for awhile, realizing that she was hallucinating and consciously telling herself that she was past the point of caring. She didn't speak though – they hadn't heard Abby's name and they weren't going to from her. It was curious though, how Ziva could hear the thunk of Abby's boots clearly, and she could somehow smell the chemicals she used to separate DNA in her tests. Maybe Abby was the angel of death, Ziva thought, and her lips cracked as she smiled. Abby would just love that.

_The forensic scientist's lips were pursed as she leaned down, quite serious, almost comically so, as she spoke again. "You really look like hell, Ziva. I call you all the time. I know you're stuck here in Somalia, but you know, you could have at least called before you went on a suicide mission. We miss you like crazy."_

"Maybe you shouldn't." Ziva's voice was gone, she realized, but in her mind, Abby heard her clearly. Her jaw dropped in indignation.

"_Ziva! We're **family." **She put her hands on her hips. "I don't care if Tony did kill your boyfriend. He didn't do it cause he's jealous, we both know Tony better than that."_

Ziva hung her head. The vision of Abby, glaring at her like a mother cat, remained. "I know." She finally said. "He still did it."

_Abby sighed and leaned down, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I know, Ziva." She sighed faintly. "You should wake up now. I'm going to hit you if you don't."_

Ziva blinked and looked up. Abby's smiling face swam out of view, replaced by her captor, chuckling.

"Hallucinating, were we?" he asked, his hand on her shoulder where Abby's had been. Their boots scuffed on the floor, they smelled of chemicals.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'd been wondering when I would see you." Ziva said. Her voice was at full strength, her body wasn't shaking – she knew she was finally dreaming.

"Yeah, well, I always told you I'd stay in your head no matter what. Kind of funny how true it was, huh? You know, the state you're in now, reminds me of that one James Bond movie, where they stick him in the chair that has a hole in the bottom and..."

"Tony." Ziva murmured, trying not to think about the fact that Tony wasn't really in the room with her and that movie reference had all been her. When had she even seen that Bond movie? She hated them. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you asking me, Zee-Vah? It's your dream." he countered, giving her a look. "I guess you just couldn't get Very Special Agent Tony Dinozzo out of your head, eh?"

"It's not something to be proud of, Tony." Ziva snapped, glaring at him severely. "You killed the man I love."

"The man you tried to love." Tony corrected. He flopped into a rolling chair and kicked off the ground to roll over to her. She had to hand it to her mind – the wheels made little lines of kicked up dust in the still air as he glided over to her. "Campfire, Ziva. What, exactly, do you know about me?"

Ziva grit her teeth. "Even in my head you're an arrogant pig." She spat.

"You just know me well enough not to sugar coat it." Tony replied with a grin. "Come on Ziva. What do you know?"

"I know you're a hopeless, cliché ridden, romantic. I know you're an idiot about how to show someone you love them. You're even worse about friendship."

"Am I a jealous person?"

"You're prideful." Ziva growled. "Big-headed."

"And you know it's all an act. Every last word." Tony continued, still smirking. "You're completely aware that I'm a pushover when it comes to women, and you know – especially when it comes to women I love – I'd rather shoot myself than hurt them. You also know I'll protect a woman I love no matter what."

Ziva ground her teeth. "What's your point, Tony? That you didn't mean to shoot Michael? You'd have rather shot yourself, let him kill you, but you couldn't!"

"Nah." he said. "Point is, I wasn't hurting you, Ziva. I was protecting you. I'm amazed it took you this long to exactly figure it out. I said it to your face."

"I was angry." She murmured, looking down.

"If I was really here, would you still be angry?" He asked.

She thought about that for a moment. "If you were really here..." she sighed. "Yes. But only because you'd be an idiot for coming here."

Tony laughed. "You're right. But you know, if I figure it out, I'll be here as fast as Gibbs can slip the system for me. If your father was coming he'd have been here already."

"Yes." Ziva said, blinking at her stinging eyes. "I know."


	5. Chapter 5

Ziva had never met the agent who preceded her – the one that Ari had killed. She knew her name by heart – Caitlin Todd. She'd been on the president's security detail before defecting to NCIS on account of a personal relationship within the ranks. She'd seen her picture many times, especially when she'd first begun to work at NCIS. It had been on walls, on cubicles, in Tony's wallet, in McGee's PDA, on Abby's wall and in a small frame on Ducky's desk.

Ziva had never once resented Kate for the love she'd inspired from the entire team. It wasn't worth it. She did occasionally get looks though, from others knowing that she was related to the man who had killed her, their golden girl, their angel, their Kate. Bitterly, she doubted she would get such a reaction when it finally came back to NCIS that she was dead. Then again, according to all evidence, she'd been lost at sea – drowned on a shipping vessel. It was hardly the hero's death that Kate had been granted.

_And if they knew the truth, my dear? Certainly many ancient cultures, and several modern ones celebrate a death under duress and pain as being more noble than something simple as a pulmonary embolism or drowning – but do you think your death will hurt us any less than dear Caitlin's?_

Ziva blinked. She was in the sterile expanse of the autopsy room, the floor flat and cleared of dust, the tables shining under full light, and Ducky himself was in his scrubs, stripping his gloves off and carefully putting them into the biohazard box. She looked around, idly wondering how much time she'd really spent down here – were there really 16 cool boxes for bodies? Were there more? Less? There was observation required for her work and then there was sheer anal retentiveness. Tony would call the latter. If her hallucinations were right – she probably wouldn't hit him.

She looked at Ducky, who was regarding her with that perfect patience born of constantly talking to the ones who couldn't talk back. "I was not loved as Kate was. I was not even a citizen."

Ducky just shook his head slightly. _Ziva, _he said, coming over to put his hands on her shoulders. _Both of those points have no bearing on the question. You could never be loved as Caitlin was; she was a completely different woman than you are. And isn't one of the great American traditions to see beyond the country one hails from? _

"My task was to represent my country." Ziva said dully. "I never indicated a wish to be indoctrinated."

_I suppose not. _Ducky semi-conceded. _But you still fought with us, for us. _He chuckled faintly. _And in any case, you were in with Director Jenny Shepard. People respected you for that, though I imagine some partook of rather unlikely fantasies as well._

_I know I did! _Jimmy Palmer chirruped from across the room. Ziva nearly started. When had he entered her vision? Ducky turned to give him a patient look from where Ziva sat and the younger man gulped faintly. _Right. _ He said. _Getting back to work._

_Very good, Mr. Palmer. _Ducky said, and turned back to Ziva. _The point, my dear Ziva, is not to compare yourself to Kate. You are Ziva, with all the privileges and responsibilities therein, and we wouldn't have changed you for the world._

"Tony-,"

_Never once tried to change you. _Ducky said gently. _You changed yourself for him. _


	6. Chapter 6

Her tormenters took to tormenting her or just stalking around her near daily again. She figured someone must have come sniffing. They hadn't gotten close enough for her to hear or see, but she spent more and more time in her head as the week dragged on.

Once in awhile, she counted her blessings. Her captor found rape distasteful, and he had near complete control over his men. She actually wasn't sure if it was rape as a whole or just carnal contact with her. She was a Jew and, as her captor had pointed out a few times, practically an American.

_Two strikes and you are out, I guess. _Ziva thought to herself almost giddily as the man watching her that day turned and closed the door.

"It's three strikes, Ziva." Tony sighed, "One, two, three strikes you're out. Come on. Didn't we take you to a baseball game at least once?"

"We were all called out to a crime scene before the first part was over." Ziva answered in her mind-world before smiling faintly. "You did not stop whining about it for at least two weeks."

"Inning." Tony muttered. "It's called an inning."

Ziva had long ago stopped wondering where Tony's corrections came from, since he wasn't here to give them. Mildly ignoring him, she turned her head to see what her guard was doing – there was an odd noise in her left ear, like he was rubbing his hands together over and over – but before she could see what was going on, Tony moved to block her vision, face near hers. "Tony." She said tartly. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to do what you never let me do before."

"I'm not far gone enough to think you will be taking me out on a date." Ziva drawled.

Tony laughed, and Ziva heard a grunt underneath the sound that must have been the guard stretching. "Tony. What's going on?" She just barely tilted her head to see around him, but Tony moved with her.

"Don't look, Ziva." He said softly. "You really don't need to."

"They're going to shoot me up again? I can take it Tony – eventually I will be more burden than benefit and they will kill me. It simply does not matter."

Tony reached out, face sad, and caressed her face, his finger pressing a little hard on her skin, but she didn't care too much. Maybe it was just her sore muscles. "It matters to me, Ziva." He said. "Please let me protect you for once."

Ziva blinked at him for a moment, hearing a distant grunt again in the silence between them, a faint musty smell in her swollen nose. Finally, she murmured. "All right, Tony. Have it your way."

He leaned in, touching her cheek, much softer and warmer now, and smiled. "Thank you, Ziva."

"Why are you crying?" Ziva asked softly.

"One of us should." He replied, cradling her head so that she leaned forward. Her lips brushed against his cheek, and she could suddenly clearly taste his tears – salty, heady, and viscous against her cracked and worn lips. She swallowed automatically, staggering in awe. Did she really taste Tony's tears in her hallucination, or did she taste something else – like when she'd smelled Abby's lab on her captor? Tony's breath was hard and hitching as if he was still crying, but it didn't sound quite like Tony…

"Stop thinking, Ziva." Tony murmured in her ear, fingers gently gripping her hair. "Just be here with me. You know no matter what you're safe with me… don't think."

Ziva immediately stilled, and then relaxed. "All right, Tony." She whispered again. "Have it your way."

_Are you a fool?_ _Saleem will annihilate you if he discovers what you've done with her!_

_There is no evidence. She was thirsty._

_What of her? _

_She didn't even know I was there. _


End file.
